Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Czech Republic and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Joey Negro to the jazz kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Fort Wilson Riot. All the underground hits.
All Urselle tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Stooges record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lungfish,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Talk Talk,
The Searchers,
OOIOO,
The Modern Lovers,
Sällskapet,
X-Ray Spex,
Tres Demented,
Radio Birdman,
David Bowie,
the Sonics,
The Young Rascals,
Depeche Mode,
Swell Maps,
Prince Buster,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Red Krayola,
Harmonia,
Visage,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Deakin,
Popol Vuh,
Jacques Brel,
Yusef Lateef,
Kevin Saunderson,
B.T. Express,
Gong,
the Swans,
Pagans,
The Five Americans,
T. Rex,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Mummies,
Derrick May,
MDC,
The Sound,
John Lydon,
Matthew Halsall,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Radiohead,
Sight & Sound,
the Normal,
Ultravox,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Cramps,
E-Dancer,
Subhumans,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Black Moon,
Kurtis Blow,
Rakim,
Matthew Bourne,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
LL Cool J,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
La Düsseldorf,
T.S.O.L.,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Wasted Youth,
The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.